


Affection

by thegraceinyoureyes



Category: Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceinyoureyes/pseuds/thegraceinyoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liir muses on his feelings towards Trism, and Elphaba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affection

Yes, he supposed that he did have a certain…affection for Trism. If affection was knowing all the dragonmaster’s mannerisms, and quirks. If affection was, sometimes, when talking to Candle, he found his hands imitating the way Trism’s moved, because they’re _just hands_.

If affection was being kept awake at night, worrying about what could have possibly happened between Trism and Candle, if he had connected that Liir was the father of the unborn, and how Trism would have _reacted_ to that. Or, worse, if _something_ had happened between Trism and Candle. If affection is the lance of jealousy that spikes through his heart at the thought. But of Trism. Jealous of Trism, not of Candle.

Later, he was sometimes jerked awake, roughly, by a particularly bad dream (always involving Trism’s death), gasping Trism’s name. And the baby would stare up at him with her huge, unblinking eyes. Even set in her Quadling features, he could see traces of Elphaba. Not because of the green hue to her skin, but the eyes; the wide, solemn eyes, and then there was the sharp jut to her chin, the narrow, angular joints. Elphaba would know what to do. About Trism, about the baby, about everything. She would know.

He held affection for her too, his green-skinned mother, the one who was always cold, always brisk, always sharp, always in control. He didn’t love her, that was certain. Just like he didn’t love Trism. As for Candle…she was an acquaintance, he supposed. The mother of the baby in the old onion basket.

If affection is the dull ache he’d grown accustomed to, deep in his chest, at the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This was published on ff.net and livejournal quite a while ago, but I've just got around to moving all of my work onto here. For more of my writing before it's posted on here/updates on other fics, check out my [tumblr](http://thegraceinyoureyes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
